


Splinters

by Crollalanza



Series: The Captain and his Vice [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 13:24:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1942779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sawamura Daichi hadn't paid much attention to Sugawara at first, but then they practised together, and he quickly realised how necessary he was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Splinters

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Haikyuu fic, so I'm hideously nervous. I would love to hear your opinions and any constructive crit you may have for me. 
> 
> I'd like to thank a few tumblr people for welcoming me into the Haikyuu fandom and not minding when I badgered them.  
> These are, citrusfleugal, karasuno-kid and haikyuustuff. (They do have other names - hee hee)  
> Also a shout out to my lovely Natalie who has let me rabbit on about Haikyuu, and my new obsessive love for DaiSuga, despite never having read a chapter, or seeing an episode of the marvellousness that is Haikyuu!!
> 
> The ** lines are taken directly from the manga Ch 21 - Toss to theAce.
> 
> Now let us all pray for Daichi.

They hadn’t clicked _straight_ away. It wasn’t that Daichi disliked him, but when he’d turned up to the first Karasuno volleyball meeting, he’d not paid him much attention. At least, not straight away. 

There’d been a lot of older guys, taller guys, _louder_ guys, so when Daichi looked back, the quiet, blond boy had been someone he’d overlooked. Of course, now he wondered how that was even possible, especially as they were both in class four. Both expected to succeed.

It had been at their second practise (they were watching a two-on-two) that Daichi had realised he wasn’t just the short, skinny guy who wouldn’t speak to his senpais, or chat to the others sitting out. He didn’t talk on the sidelines because he was observing. And learning.  His eyes narrowing shrewdly whenever a player served, opening wider when a particularly good receive was handled.

“Setter?”  Daichi asked when there was a time out, having wracked his brains to try to remember something about the guy.

“Huh?”  A pair of brown eyes met his.

“You said you wanted to be a Setter.”

“Uh ... yeah. It’s what I played in junior high. And you?”

Daichi had rolled his shoulders back, knowing what he was about to say didn’t sound glamorous, not like Setter or Ace. “I’m good at receives.”

“Ah, Libero?” He looked him up and down. “You’re tall.”

Daichi shrugged. “Wing Spiker.”

The two-on-two had started up again, which gave his companion an excuse not to reply, but instead he’d turned to face Daichi fully and smiled. “You stop the ball touching the floor. Just as important as scoring.”

“Yeah,” Daichi grinned back and held out his hand. “Sawamura Daichi.”

“I know,” he replied, and took his hand. “Sugawara.”

“Sugawara ... what?”

His nose had wrinkled. “Koushi. But I hate it. Call me Suga, yeah?”

 

The two-on-two had ended, and they’d started practising serves and receives. Suga, Daichi remembered, had good technique, but no real power. He could place the ball, but not slam it. But he had a reasonable success rate, and left the court smiling faintly to himself, before wishing Daichi luck.  And receives? Well, they’d been weak. Sure, it had been towards the end of the session, and they’d all been tired, but Sugawara – after taking one to the face – had slunk off the court crestfallen.

“Sugawara ... uh ... Suga.” Daichi caught up with him as he swung out of the gates.

“Huh?”

“Your receives ...”

“Are crap. Yeah, I know.” Suga sighed. “I’ll need to improve to make the team – that is if they’ll let first years on.”

“My serves are weak,” Daichi replied, his smile rueful.  “We could practise together, if you want.”

He nodded. “Sure, that’d be-“

“Sawamura!”

They both stopped at the sound. Running full-pelt towards them was a girl in a tracksuit. For a moment, Daichi didn’t recognise her, but as she bowled closer, a huge smile on her face, he smiled back.

“Michimiya!”

“Have you finished practise?” she asked. He nodded. “Me, too. Are you walking home now?”

“Uh...” He glanced at Suga, wondering if he wanted to practise now, but he’d already shifted his kit bag over his shoulder, and was stepping in the other direction. “Lunchtime tomorrow, Sugawara?”

“Sure.” He gave Michimiya a small bow, and Daichi a wave before heading off.  “Look forward to it!”

“Who’s he?”  Michimiya asked.

“Ah, sorry. I should have introduced you.  Sugawara. He’s a first year, like us. Wants to play Setter.”

She pursed her lips. “Any chance he will?”

Daichi considered the question. Karasuno didn’t have a strong team – not now. Their regular Setter had left last year, and Daichi had no idea who’d replace him, so it could be a first year. But there’d been a taller guy throwing tosses when they practised spikes.  “Too early to tell.”

She nodded. “Yeah, he might give up after a week. Our captain says most of the Junior High kids quit.”

“Not me!” he said, stung.

“And not me, either,” she replied.  “Just think. Maybe we’ll be the ones leading Karasuno to Nationals.”

The image of crows flying, black and orange shirts taking on the best in the country, shot into his mind, but he banished it. “We’re not even playing yet, Michimiya, and you have us as Champions.”

“Can’t win if you think you’ll be defeated, Sawamura. Didn’t you tell me that?”

 He smiled to himself, her enthusiasm infectious, although, with her, he knew it wouldn’t last. Michimiya was up and down like a wave. Talented, but erratic, enthusiastic until someone or something let her down. She’d bounce back – she always did – but it became wearing.  They parted on the corner of her street, and then his mind switched back to his own practise.

And Sugawara Koushi.

 

He sought Suga out the next morning, saying hi in class before registration, to the astonishment of the first few tentative High School friends he’d made.  Sugawara Koushi was not like them. He sat at the side of class, not with anyone in particular, didn’t join in with the banter, but watched them all.  Daichi had the feeling that Suga assessed everything, just as he had in the volleyball two-on-two.

“Still on for practise?” Suga asked as he unpacked his homework.

“Yeah. What if we can’t get in the gym, though?”

Suga looked somewhat surprised and then smiled. It was as if he’d expected Daichi to postpone. “There’s a patch of grass behind the cafeteria,” he said. “No windows, so we won’t break anything.”

“Sure. Sounds good,” Daichi confirmed. He was about to say something like ‘looking forward to it’ or to make a joke about ‘balls getting stuck in trees’ but the teacher came in, so he sauntered to his desk at the back of the class.

“Why you talking to him?” Tadami, one of his new friends, muttered.

“He plays volleyball,” Daichi replied. Then he frowned. Why did he have to explain?

“Pfft, you should play soccer. Lot more fun. The girls love it and you won’t get stuck with dorks like that guy.”

“Kurata- kun!” yelled the teacher, rapping her ruler on the empty desk in the front row. “Distract Sawamura again and you’ll be sitting at this desk for the rest of the week!”

As Tadami glowered, Daichi averted his eyes, looking left down the line of desks.  Suga was staring at him, and for a moment, Daichi wondered if he’d overheard the conversation. He smiled apologetically just in case, but Suga had turned back to his books.

 

It was a beautiful spring afternoon, bright and warm, with a very faint breeze ruffling the leaves of the new blossom. Laughter lilted through the air – girls’ laughter – ringing light and clear through the mellow, yellow sunshine of the day. But Daichi didn’t stop, not even when Michimiya called across that he could join them.

“Hi, sorry, have you been waiting long?”

He hoped he sounded apologetic. Hell, he was apologetic, having been dragged along to the cafeteria by Tadami so he could check out a girl he claimed had smiled at him the day before at soccer practise.  Whether she had remained a mystery because she’d not looked their way in the queue, even when Tadami started proclaiming in a very loud voice that he was about to play in the match on Saturday, and how that was a great achievement for a first year. Grabbing a roll, a bag of crisps and can of soda, Daichi quickly made his excuses and rushed to the piece of scrub.

“A bit,” Suga said. From the look of the half-eaten sandwich and open bottle of water, it had been longer than a ‘bit’, but he didn’t sound reproving.  “Shall we start, or do you want to eat first?”

“Start,” Daichi decided. He stooped to pick up the ball from Suga’s feet and started to bounce it on the grass.  “Ten serves, okay? And then we’ll swap.”

“Hey, wait for me.”  Suga jumped to his feet, laughing as he unbuttoned his gakuran and tossed it on top of his bag. Then assuming a pose – both arms outstretched in front of him, he called, “Bring it on!”

 

Daichi smirked. He fired the ball, straight towards Suga, not too hard, but with just enough power that it wouldn’t be too easy. Unsurprisingly, Suga parried it, but the ball ricocheted to the side with no control. He served again, less power, but slightly to the left so Suga would need to move. He saw the ball easily, moved into position, and the ball struck perfectly the dead centre of his arms.

“Too easy, Daichi!” called Suga. “One more!”

Raising his eyebrows, Daichi ramped up the power, this time setting it to Suga’s right.  He sidestepped towards it, connected but staggered back, tripping on a tuft in the grass, leaving the ball to skelter upwards, finally being caught, not by Daichi, but the branches of a plum tree.

“Sorry!”  Suga picked up a stick and ran to the tree, poking at the ball until it fell, riper than any plum, into his arms.  Throwing the ball back to Daichi, Suga winced a little and shook out his hand.

“You okay?” Daichi asked, noticing the other boy was studying his palm.

“Huh? Oh, it’s nothing. Must have got a splinter from the stick,” he said, prodding at it with his fingers. “My fingernails are too short.” He gave Daichi a quick glance and licked his lower lip.  “Shame your ... uh ... girlfriend isn’t here.”

“Who?” Daichi queried, and then his face cleared. “Ah, you mean Michimiya.”  He grinned a little. “She’s a volleyball player, so her fingernails are as short as ours. And she’s nervy, so she bites them, especially before a match.”

“You know that already?” Suga sounded astonished.

“Uh-huh.” Daichi laughed a little. “She’s not my girlfriend. We knew each other at Junior High.”

“Oh.” Suga didn’t say much more, but his shoulders, which had been stiff and hunched, relaxed and after one more quick attempt to remove the splinter, he picked up the ball.

“You need to bend your knees,” Daichi instructed. “Be looser, not so rigid.”

“Show me?” Suga suggested. “I’ll serve to you, yeah?”

Agreeing, Daichi walked back and readied himself for what he assumed would be a fast serve that he’d need to swerve into. The ball came at him with unerring accuracy. It wasn’t powerful, or an attempt to fox an opponent, but a serve _designed_ to be received, a ball that would enable Suga to learn the exact position needed. Daichi brought his arms together and in, then whacked the ball up with all his might back the way it came. And although Suga jumped, the ball went way over his head, not even touching his fingertips. But what Daichi noticed was not the fact he’d missed, but that Suga had a huge smile on his face.

“Nice receive!” he shouted.

“Nice serve,” Daichi responded.  “ _Too_ nice, Suga. Make it harder!”

Then he stopped because looming behind Suga, in shadow, was a tall figure dressed in black. As he stepped into a patch of sunlight, Daichi scowled. He recognised the guy – someone who’d turned up at the first volleyball meeting. An arrogant second or even third year from the look of him with long hair, broad shoulders and ... Hell, he looked as if he’d started to shave!

“Volleyball?” the giant asked, sounding polite. “I missed a session, so may I join in? I could use the practise. Or maybe I could toss for you.”

“No,” Daichi snapped. “We don’t need help, thank you. He’s a Setter.”

“Uh ...” Suga stared at Daichi, and then smiled apologetically at the stranger. “It’s Azumane, isn’t it?”

_He knows him?_

“Yeah. You’re ... uh ... Sugawara, aren’t you?”

“Class Three?” Suga was saying.

Azumane, or whatever his name was, nodded a little ruefully.

“You’re a first year?” Daichi blinked - now he was interested. “You’re so tall. What position do you play?”

“Wing Spiker.”

 _Damn! He looks powerful, too._ He fixed the new guy with his most disconcerting glare, and almost laughed when the giant stepped back. _Not so powerful_.

“Sorry, I’ll ... uh ... leave you to your practise.”

Suga frowned at Daichi. “No, stay. Sawamura needs someone more powerful than me. I’ll toss, you two receive and spike, yeah?”

 

The three of them started practising together after that. One Setter and two Wing Spikers, who, when it came down to it, weren’t in competition with each other because from that moment on, they’d formed a unit, building up some slick moves. With the current third years thinking of their futures, and the second years suffering from a distinct lack of talent, the three of them made the team early on in their High School careers, which was not something to be scoffed at. (Tadami tried, but Daichi had quickly grown sick of his jibes and moved to a desk next to Suga.) 

 

“Asahi’s an Ace,” Suga murmured after one of their practises as they walked back to class.

“You think?” Daichi was grumpy, tired and dusty from falling to the ground far too often trying to receive Asahi’s spike.

“Uh-huh, and you’ll be Captain.”

Daichi shook his head. “I don’t read the game as well as you,” he muttered.

“You have more drive,” Suga countered, and grinned “And ... you’re _much_ scarier. I don’t think I could keep a team in check.”

“Scary? Me?” He laughed, then hesitated. “You’re not scared of me, are you, Suga-san?”

He swallowed, and with one hand ruffled his hair so it stuck up even more than usual. “Not of you, no,” he mumbled, then coughed. “Come on, we should get back to class.”

 _Not of you_ ...He’d emphasised the of.

Why?

 

***

 

Nearly two years later, as he looked back on that first lunchtime practise, Daichi could clearly pinpoint Sugawara’s usefulness. No, that was the wrong word. Suga wasn’t ‘useful’; he was _necessary_. A soft counter-wind taking the sting out of a tornado’s twist, changing its direction away from destruction.

Only occasionally did his special brand of balm lose its power.

 

They’d lost the game.

Hell, they’d lost a lot of games, more than they’d won, but in the past, they’d never lost without fighting. And players could have an off day, make the occasional mistake – Daichi knew that.

Asahi had had an off day - that was all. There was no need for Suga to look so down about it. Or blame himself. How the hell could he think that?

But when they returned to Karasuno, when all went silent (even Tanaka stopped cracking jokes) when Suga drooped, and Nishinoya stared at the wall not even bothering to flick up his hair – that’s when _Asahi_ lost it. The power of the man. The firing up they’d only ever seen on court; the fire that had been so sorely missed as the tsunami of Date-Tech wall engulfed him. All his passion exploded as he so desperately raged at them to blame him.

Noya losing it was to be expected. Never calm (except on court) a whirling dervish of emotions, louder than ten Tanakas, his anger spat the fire Asahi had been lacking in the match.

And after they’d gone, it was Suga who’d picked up the broken mop.

“What if he doesn’t come back?” Suga asked, staring after Asahi.

“He will.”

“He’s never lost it like that before.”  Picking up the broom, Suga stared at the fractured, ragged break. “I’ll go after him.”

Daichi grabbed Suga’s sleeve. “Leave him to cool off. It’ll be fine. Our Ace will sleep this off and come back to practise tomorrow. He’ll be so embarrassed that he’ll buy us all pork buns. Noya will become unbearably loud, Tanaka more determined and –” He broke off, unsure Suga was listening.

“I relied on him too much. It’s my-”

Stepping right up to him, Daichi stared straight at Suga, facing the pain leeching from his soft brown eyes. “Don’t say that,” he said fiercely, and held him tighter. “Don’t ever say that.”

 “Sa-Sawamura! Can we talk?” called Shimizu, from the edge of the gymnasium.  She eyed Tanaka’s attempts to sweep the floor close to her warily, then added, “Er ... outside?”

Daichi grimaced, not really wanting a match post mortem at this hour, He knew she meant well, but Shimizu’s pep talks usually ended up with him reassuring her.

“Go,” Suga muttered, gently disentangling himself from Daichi’s grip. “I’ll finish up here.”

 

He joined her on one of the scuffed metal benches outside the gym. Inside he could hear Tanaka, still mopping, but now singing love songs, irrepressible as ever. It was a cool night, the wind ruffling the tattered posters stuck on the notice board, and Shimizu zipped up her tracksuit top, right to her neck in an attempt to stop shivering. 

“I saw Asahi leave,” she said. “He didn’t say goodbye.”

“He’s angry. He’ll be full of apologies tomorrow.”

“You sure about that?” Shimizu asked.

He shrugged. “We all lose our temper. Our Libero lost it too, but he’ll come bounding back in tomorrow with more determination than ever.”

“That’s Noya,” she stated, and pulled a face. “Asahi’s different.”

“Bad day, bad game. He’ll get over it,” Daichi said bluntly.

“Sawamura- kun, sometimes I don’t think you know people very well at all.” She started to fiddle with her hair, untying it, then refixing it so the pony tail was tight and high on her head. Daichi stayed silent, wondering if this was leading somewhere. Shimizu’s innate shyness meant she wasn’t prone to long speeches, but when she made up her mind, she’d use words to prove her point.

“I think,” she began after a while, “that you’re still surprised, and maybe a little pleased, when Asahi gets scared. You don’t see beyond his frame, his hair, his beard. And you assume he’s just like you. Sawamura Daichi. Senpai – scared of no one!” She chewed her lip.

“He’s a goofball. He’ll be back!” Daichi said stonily. “And if he’s not, then we’ll get over it. What’s the point of an Ace who doesn’t want to fight?”

“And what’s the point of a Captain who doesn’t want to lead?” she retorted. “Or one without a team!”

“You think they’ll all leave!”  He laughed at her. “Shimizu, I think it’s you who doesn’t get people. I know my team.” He closed his eyes and let out a sigh because his fight wasn’t with her, and he knew how much it cost her to confront him like this.  “Okay, I’ll speak to Asahi. I promise.”

“Not just Asahi.”

“Noya, too,” he agreed.

She shook her head. “Noya will be back, just as loud and a thousand times more annoying.”  Her cheeks went pink. “It’s Suga you need to talk to.”

“Huh?”

“He blames himself,” Shimizu said softly. “And like Asahi, he takes things so much to heart. He doesn’t want to let you down, Daichi, but he thinks he already has.”

“Rubbish. He’s never let me down.”

She stood up and hoisted her bag across one shoulder. “Talk to him, Daichi-san. Talk to him first, yes?”

 

He stared at the moon for a while after she’d gone, wondering about things. What things he wasn’t sure. But amidst the swirl of thoughts about the game, the bitter disappointment, and the god-awful taste of defeat, one image kept glaring in front of him. Suga tossing the ball. Suga tireless in his attempts to inspire, to pull the team together, to show more faith in Karasuno’s Ace. Maybe he had been wrong, but he couldn’t take that burden on himself – and neither could Asahi. They all had a part to play. Training would have to increase, for everyone, and ... Daichi sighed as he faced the enormity of the task ahead of him. He was almost a third-year. Captaining and coaching this volleyball side was, at times, far too hard. The only way he’d been able to cope had been because of his vice-captain. Suga was dependable. Suga was always there. 

Perhaps he was being selfish. Suga’s dedication could well be taking a toll that Daichi hadn’t realised.

Tanaka’s singing had got worse. Yelling that Shimizu had left in the hope he’d quieten down, Daichi stepped back inside and into the equipment room. Suga had cleared everything away, but was standing in the centre of the room, the broken mop in his hand.

“Throw it away,” Daichi muttered. “We’ll get another.”

Suga sighed and appeared to comply, but instead of dropping the mop in the trash, he placed it in the corner - next to the bin.

“Don’t start saying this is all your fault or any of that,” Daichi said, placing his hands on his hips. “’Cause if you do, I’ll so ...” he leant forwards, fixing Suga with a warning look, “Come close to socking you one.” **

“I won’t,” Suga mumbled. He sniffed a little, and tried a grin. “It was just-”

“Yep, I know. It’s been a shock to all of us, but now we know we all have to improve and ...” He stopped, exasperated as Tanaka began to sing again. “Tanaka, give it a rest!”

“Senpai?” Tanaka poked his head round the door, the smile still plastered on his face.

“Go home,” Suga said quietly. “You’ve done your bit.”

“But be back tomorrow morning!” Daichi ordered as Tanaka sprinted for the door. “AND ON TIME!”

“You’re not going to let up, are you?” Suga mused.

“Nope, not on any of us.” He looked back at the equipment room, the shelves stacked neatly and realised it was all Suga’s doing. “I ... uh ... Suga, you do know I can’t do any of this without you, don’t you?”

“I think you could, Daichi-san.” He coughed. “Maybe you need a different Vice-Captain. I’m not hard enough. I’m not-”

“Stop that, or I will sock you one. Understand?”

“Sure. I only thought...”  He broke off and rubbed the back of his head. “I’m an idiot.”

“Yeah, sometimes.” He frowned as Suga started to flex his fingers. “What’s the matter? You injured?”

Suga shook his head and held up his hand. “Splinter. Must have got it from the mop.”

“Let me look.”

“I’ll sort it out when I get home,” Suga protested, but he didn’t object when Daichi took his hand.

“No, you don’t want to leave these things in or they fester,” Daichi replied. He gestured to the pile of gym mats and they both sat down, as they’d done so many times before, after training or a match. “And I thought we could grab some food on the way home. Discuss our next move.”

Was he imagining Suga’s faint intake of breath? Maybe the splinter was more painful than he’d thought. He pressed at the skin, but Suga didn’t flinch, so it couldn’t be that that was troubling him.

“Shim...” He bit his lip, then swallowed. “Shimizu thinks you’re going to leave.”

“Whaaaaat?!”  Suga gulped at the air. “No, no, I only said that about the Vice-Captain because you deserve someone better. But leaving volleyball?” He shook his head fiercely.”  No way. She’s dead wrong. I mean, if I did that then when would I see you... er ... everyone?”

Because he was fair -skinned, the blush on Suga’s cheeks showed more prominently than it would on, say, Michimiya or Shimizu. And that, obviously, was the reason Daichi suddenly felt so disconcerted. That and Suga whipping his hand away as if he’d been burnt.

“Hey, I nearly had it there!” Daichi protested, and reached out for Suga’s hand. “Come on.”

“Your nails are shorter than mine.”

“Then ...” Daichi stopped speaking and examined Suga’s palm. The tear in the skin caused by the splinter was beginning to heal, but as he pressed at it with his thumbnail, he saw with satisfaction that the spelk was working its way to the surface. His mum would have used tweezers, but Daichi had neither them nor nails, so instead he lifted Suga’s palm to his mouth.

“What are you-”

His teeth nipped at the splinter, catching hold, even though Suga’s palm had become unaccountably clammy.  “All done,” Daichi muttered, spitting the tiny shard of wood onto the floor. “You’ll live.”

And that was when he should have let go. But Suga’s hand, cupped in his felt so right, so _necessary_ , that he couldn’t see any reason to let it drop.  “We’d still see each other,” he mumbled.

“What?” Suga’s voice was a rasp.

And then he twined his fingers around Suga’s, keeping eye contact just in case he’d got this so very wrong. But he didn’t think he had. And even if there was an error, nothing was gained by never going for the spike, never calling for the toss, or taking the receive. “If ...if you do want to leave, then I’d make sure we saw each other. Unless ... you're scared of me, too.”

"What?"

"You said that once. Said you weren't scared _of_ me. But I wondered what you meant."

“I’ve never been scared,” Suga whispered. “Not _of_ you, but how you make me feel.”

“Then you won’t leave.”

“Never,” replied Suga.

“Good.” Daichi gently kissed Suga’s palm, and edged closer. “Because I can lose a game. I can lose an Ace. I can lose the whole _fucking_ team. But, Sugawara Koushi, I’m not losing you.”

 


End file.
